


The Criminal Enshrouded

by DictionaryWrites



Series: Patron Minette Week 2013 (1-7 Dec) [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dom/sub, M/M, Orders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2018-01-03 04:39:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1065858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Montparnasse has some considerations about Claquesous. It is not often that Montparnasse gets the chance to think whilst fellating someone, and he appreciates the consideration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Criminal Enshrouded

On the nights Claquesous pulled him aside like this, pulled him home moving in long strides that left no room for argument or for question, through the dead of the night with their boot heels leaving audible clicks sounding through the evening air, Montparnasse could almost imagine he had been to a masquerade as the bourgeois go to. Montparnasse liked to imagine things, and so he did: he imagined being the innocent young man, coquettish despite his gender, flushing as Claquesous eased him back against the wall and away from the rest of the party, a thigh pressed between Montparnasse’s legs as he spoke,  _growled_ , dirty things in Montparnasse’s ear, with Montparnasse rolling his hips against the proffered leg, blushing, for he was virginal, and whimpering, for he was needy.

They had not been to a masquerade. When an older man takes a young one home from a masquerade, the mask comes off. The mask would not come off tonight, or on any other. Montparnasse knew this, and was untroubled by the fact, for he had accepted it years ago.

He unlocked his door, and Claquesous ushered him inside with not a word, closing it behind them and setting Montparnasse’s key on his table. He did not remove his clothes, and Montparnasse did not remove his: Montparnasse’s room was chilly for the winter, and besides, they could do this without stripping away their clothes.

Montparnasse removed his coat and set it down, frowning a little at the way it was threadbare, and he considered the worth in buying himself another. “Forget the coat.” Claquesous said, his voice the lowest of rasps as he gave the order, and Montparnasse looked up, his cherry lips parting as he regarded Claquesous’ open trousers, at his member, stark and hard and obvious in his hand. Montparnasse let out a soft whimper at the thought of its girth and its length, the way it was wet at the head, but Claquesous was not going to fuck him tonight. 

From others, Montparnasse would not have allowed such a spot-on estimation of his thoughts to go unquestioned, but from Claquesous, he expected it. Even if he did not, asking after his knowledge of the inner workings of Montparnasse’s mind would have gone for nothing - Claquesous spoke little, especially when he wished for Montparnasse to come to him like this.

Montparnasse indicated the bed in a smooth motion, bowing and cocking his head as he gave the silent invitation, and Claquesous strode forwards, seating himself on the edge of Montparnasse’s decadently comfortable double bed - after his clothes, the only thing Montparnasse would spend much money on.

Montparnasse dropped to his knees before the other man, taking the pillow Claquesous gave him to do so (the masked man knew him well by now, and knew Montparnasse would refuse to do a  _thing_  if his trousers were to be scuffed or his knees to be sore).  And then, Montparnasse dipped, licking a slow stripe up the length of Claquesous’ member, tasting sweat and salt and the natural musk of man there, and he was comfortably with it.

Montparnasse did it again, tracing the raphe with a deft, pink tongue. Claquesous made not a sound, and would not, so Montparnasse did it a third time, and then he dipped yet lower, putting his lips to Claquesous’ balls and suckling at them, dragging his tongue over the rough skin and enjoying the texture.

Montparnasse adored to have a member at his mouth, and he put his hands up on Claquesous’ knees, shifting his position to accommodate his putting his lips to the head of Claquesous’ cock and take it deeper, bobbing his head and hollowing his cheeks as he bobbed.

He looked up at Claquesous, and examined him. He took his time blowing this man at each occasion, for if he attempted to rush Claquesous would only box his ears, and Claquesous never grabbed Montparnasse by his carefully made-up hair and attempted to fuck his throat as some men would.

No, Claquesous watched Montparnasse, drinking in the sight whilst remaining still and silent, leaning back with his hands flat on the mattress. Claquesous watched Montparnasse, and Montparnasse looked up at him with a devotedly captivated expression, even though he was not looking upon Claquesous’ face. The mask was black. It was black and carved of wood, varnished so that it shone by the light of a candle. It was tied at the back by a thick, silken ribbon, and it covered Claquesous’ upper face, leaving only the lowermost parts of his cheeks, his lips, his jaw and his chin visible.

Claquesous had a defined jaw, cleanly shaved at any time, and his nose was neither prominent nor small. His lips were dark, but not red in the way Montparnasse’s were, and his mouth was pleasant to look upon. Claquesous’ eyes were of the deepest cerulean, if one took care to look behind the wood of the mask, and Montparnasse envied them because his own eyes were a plain brown. 

Montparnasse bobbed his head, managing to take more of the other man, and he knew he looked obscene like this, for he had done this once or twice before a looking glass (what a luxury!), knew that his lips were stretched and pink and wet, knew that his hollowed cheeks were a delight to the eye, and that his handsome face was handsomer when he was putting his mouth to work in this fashion.

Montparnasse wondered if Claquesous’ face were handsome beneath the mask. Alas, he supposed the thought was immaterial: he would never find out, after all.

He hummed under his breath, and Claquesous’ breathing quickened almost imperceptibly, but Montparnasse was a perceptive man, and he played incredibly close attention to those he took to bed. Montparnasse took to his work with new passion, humming, sliding his tongue on the flesh between his lips, and loving the feel of his full mouth.

He wished Claquesous would order him as other men did, give sharp, clipped words for Montparnasse to do his bidding. Montparnasse would readily, would enjoy feigning protestation to such a  _cruel_  captor, but no, Claquesous had no real patience for the games Montparnasse adored above all things.

That was of no consequence; Montparnasse liked his cock well enough to go without.

Claquesous’ orgasm was salty rather than bitter, and Montparnasse swallowed it without comment. Claquesous patted the bed, and Montparnasse moved up to sit beside him, but to his surprise, Claquesous caught his shoulder and leaned closer to murmur in his ear. “When I leave here, you will strip yourself to the flesh. You will be naked, and you will feel the cold, and you will recline on this sinful bed, and you will touch yourself. You will not allow yourself release until you have fit four of those slender fingers of yours in  _ton cul_.” 

Montparnasse let out a choked noise to hear that rasping whisper from the very back of Claquesous’ throat against his ear, the older man’s breath hot on his skin, and then Claquesous was standing, moving across the room with the grace Montparnasse had spoken to him that first night (two years ago, now? three?) for. 

He saw that Claquesous undid the ribbon at the back of his head as he opened the door, but it was closed again before Montparnasse could peer and steal a glance.

As he stripped off his cravat, his blouse, and the rest of his garments, he looked out of the window, but Claquesous did not pass - he had gone another way, alas. Montparnasse, this night, was thankful for the way Claquesous could read his mind, and as he grasped the bottle of oil on his bedside table and daubed lubricant across his fingers, he let out a soft sigh.

To be seduced was marvellous, but to be ordered to debauch one’s self was pleasant enough. And poetic enough, Montparnasse thought, when the command came from a criminal enshrouded by mask, cape and dagger.


End file.
